Of the Shadows
by xcaliber234
Summary: "Assassins and cutthroats, mercenaries and thieves. They take want they want and they do as they please." That was what Arren True-Shot had been taught all his life as a Ranger. But when he finds himself on the wrong end of a dagger, and his comrades backing its wielder, those who were left to squander in the darkness are all that he has left. He is of them. Of the Shadows.
1. Chapter 1

The sun was just beginning to set in the west like a great bird of prey taking roost for the night. A lone wolf howled in the distance as a small band of four trudged through the undergrowth of the great pine forest.

Each of them were hooded and garbed in either dark green or brown cloaks. On each of their belts were at least two steel crafted daggers as well as a sharpened sword that belonged to the soldiers of their great Empire. On their backs they each carried a large quiver of arrows and to make them usable a great forbidding long bow that was almost as a man.

The leader of the small group held up his hand and they crouched low to the ground, almost turning invisible as their cloaks blended into the forest floor.

When the leading man knew the coast was clear he motioned for them to continue. They moved through the forest like ghosts, their movement's swift but hardly a noise was made.

The leader had the deepest hood, a mix of green and grey. His face was made non-existent by the shadow of his cowl. He was well built, if he wanted to he would have made a formidable opponent on an open battlefield. But he preferred to stay at a distance and make himself unseen in the shadows.

He was one of the Empire's most accomplished agents, and was called upon regularly to do what he did best: remaining unseen. His name was Arren True-Shot. He was a man of 26, young for his superior position as a captain of the Imperial Rangers.

When his hood was removed, it would reveal a man with a surprising degree of youth, as well as a small layer of hair on his face, the result of not having shaved in a few days. A head of messy dark brown hair that descended to his lower jaw and green eyes that matched the color of the surrounding vegetation in the dying light.

He had been assigned to a team of three other rangers, each of whom were at least five years older and had had extensive experience in the field, though not as much as Arren. The matter at hand was the raid on a camp of the rebel "_Stormcloaks". _Skyrim was beginning to descend into civil war, and only recently had Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and ring leader of this uprising, rode into the Blue palace of Solitude and murdered High King Torryg with the power of his Voice.

General Tullius, one of the Empire's most esteemed commanders and military governor of Skyrim, had been given permission to quell the rebellion. The four rangers had been called in from Cyrodiil to help with the matter of a rebel outpost that had been established in the southern forests of the Nord homeland.

_My homeland_. Thought Arren sadly. He had been born in Skyrim, in a city called Whiterun that sat in the center of the province in the middle of the wide-open plains and tundra. When he was 15 years old he and his family moved to Cyrodiil. He couldn't remember the reason why, but he remembered that he had been devastated, it had meant leaving all of his friends and everything that he knew to live in the cosmopolitan of a now weak and corrupted Empire.

But there was one thing that had always stuck out more than the other things he left behind, a gold blond haired girl named Evelete.

She had been the best of his friends, having knowing each other since they were too young to walk. He was by a year her elder, but she always made sure that he remembered that it didn't matter. She was kindest person that anyone could meet and she found it difficult to say anything thing remotely bad to anyone. Her mother was a healer, working with the power of restoration.

Evelete had picked up the skill naturally and was fast becoming just as skilled as her mother. Her dream was to go to the college of Winterhold to study more on the arcane arts, since there was only so much she would be able to learn from her mother.

_The day before he left for Cyrodiil they had met in their usual spot, an old tree stump that sat behind a hill beyond the walls._ _It was their secret place. They had laid there on the stump, as they usually did, looking up into the shining blue sky just watching the clouds float past above their heads._

_"That one looks like a troll." Arren had said, pointing to a cloud with three conveniently formed holes in it resembling a troll skull they had seen in the general store inside the city walls._

_"Nah," she had said as the cloud began to warp and transform, "Looks a bit more like a dragon." _

_Arren looked at her with a raised brow._

_"Only you would see a dragon, everyone else would see a troll." _

_She looked at him with a smile, then she turned back to the sky._

_"I had a dream about a dragon once, did I ever tell you that?" _

_Arren shook his head, yes she had told him but he always loved to hear her tell the story over and over again. _

_"I was on top of a mountain, it was cold, and I was much older. I was walking around, looking for someone, when the dragon came flying over head. It landed, I was ready to attack it, but it... smiled at me, and then it said..." she stopped sitting there deep in thought._

_"Said what?" he asked. She turned back to him smiling._

_"I can never remember." _

_He smiled back at her, she never could, that was why he loved hearing her reminding him; because he always hoped she had remembered what the dragon had said. They sat there for a while longer, staring up into the heavens, making jokes about what each other saw._

_"I'm going to miss you." She had said after a while. Her brown eyes remaining fixed on the sky. _

_He had looked down from the heavens to look at her. When she noticed his gaze had changed she looked at him smiling sadly._

_"I'm going to come back Eve. And when I do I'm going to make sure that I stay for good. I promise."_

_"How can you promise that?" she asked, tears starting to well in her eyes. He had thought on this for a moment. He sat up as did she and he looked into her eyes, longing to be able stay there forever staring into their soft brown spheres. He took off the necklace that hung around his neck, an amulet of Akatosh that had been a gift from his grandfather who was a priest in Solitude at the time._

_He held it in his hand for a second and then put it around her neck. She looked down at it with an expression that was a mix of surprise and happiness. She looked back at him, tears starting to run freely down her face._

_"I can promise," he said, "Because I'm going to need to get that back." He said gently poking the amulet one last time said with a smile. _

_Then she had done the thing that he would never have expected from her: She kissed him. He had sat there almost shocked and even when she pulled away he was still shocked. She smiled at him, like she was trying to tell him that she had wanted to do it for a long time._

_His surprised look turned into a warm smile and he moved in and kissed her himself. They sat there for a few minutes, their lips sharing perfect contact. He had wanted to stay there, he hoped that Akatosh would be so kind and let him sit there for eternity._

It had now been 11 years since he had seen her, 11 years since he had shared that perfect moment with her. He hoped that she had forgotten about him now, that she had moved on and assumed whatever fate best suited his lack of return.

She probably was married by now, to what kind of man he was unsure. Either way, he hoped that she was happy. His thoughts flowed through his head at the same speed of an arrow when they were suddenly interrupted, as if said arrow had struck a tree.

"Captain?" asked one of his men. He looked back at them, their faces obscured by their hoods but he could feel their eyes on him.

"We've stopped, what's wrong?" another asked.

"Nothing," he replied, "carry on." And they began to walk their way up a small incline in the woods.

According to the information given to them, the Stormcloak camp was on the other side of the hill. They had been there for a few days now, ambushing small Imperial patrols and caravans on route to military camps throughout Skyrim.

It was lightly fortified, with a makeshift watchtower which sat in the center of the camp. All round the lines of tents were sharpened stakes that had been cut from the trees of the surrounding area.

The entire clearing was dotted with animal skin tents and for every cluster of tents there was a small fire burning with some of the rebels gathered around it eating drinking. Arren could even hear the distinct sound of words being slurred together in drunken songs.

Dotted in isolated areas around the perimeter were two man patrol teams. In the center of the encampment was a large tent that was clearly the commanding officers tent, with a pair of guards posted out front.

The main raiding party was stationed about a kilometre from the camp on the far side. The ranger's jobs were to pick off their archers and if possible the chain of command then when they had the Stormcloak's attention they would signal for the main force to attack their exposed flank. But one of their secondary objectives was to capture the leader.

A shamed Nord was worse than a dead one for the enemy's morale. Their belief was that if they died with a weapon in hand, they would go to Sovengarde, the afterlife of warriors. Arren may have been a Nord, but he believed not in the tales of mead halls that would echo with songs of triumph.

The Captain moved back behind the cover of the rock and pulled out a map from within his cloak. He unrolled it and placed it between his men. The dying light of the day made it difficult to read but they had been trained to know the map prior the mission to make up for what they would lack in light.

Arren got some rocks and placed them on the corners to stop the now growing wind from working against them.

"Okay," he began, "We are here, Legate Rikke and her raiding troop are here, on the far side of the encampment." He motioned to the two positions, tapping them a few times each.

"What of the target sir?" asked one of his men, a bald man by the name of Harlen, who was about six years older than Arren, but he had only joined the rangers about three years prior.

"Their leader is situated in the largest tent, here, it is the only tent with guards posted out the front and has a pair of banners." He looked up at the three of them. "But remember, capturing their leader is the secondary objective, but should you get the chance you take it.

"According to most reports their leaders are dressed in bear skins with clawed gloves. However the primary objective is to assist the legionaries as they storm the camp and kill or capture the rebels. We will begin our attack, then once we have their attention we will signal the Legate to begin hers."

"And if the commander gets away?" asked Maria, a sly looking woman with a sleek black ponytail and piercing hazel eyes.

"Then he will live with the shame of defeat, I doubt he will run." Arren answered.

They all nodded at the situation. But Jack a smart mouthed ranger with short blond hair and blue eyes spoke up.

"That's a lot of rebels."

Arren looked at him and smiled under his mask.

"Then pray that you have enough arrows." They all chuckled lightly.

He looked at each of them. These were his men, they were his responsibility. He would do whatever it took to protect them.

He saluted them with a fist over his heart.

"Gods be with us." They too saluted and replied likewise.

**_Stormcloak guard P.O.V._**

Tarrick began his round once again, spear and shield in hand. He had been out here for more than an hour, freezing whilst his battle brothers ate, drank and sung in front of a warm fire. He never liked the cold, he was one of the few Nords that weren't able to put up with it.

What he needed was something to put his mind on, something to take his mind off the heavy chill in the air. He walked past Grimbal, his fellow watchman.

"Can the night get any colder?" he asked partially joking. G

rimbal scoffed at him as he passed.

"Get used to it you milk-drinker, you're a Nord, you're supposed to be fine with the cold." He called to him annoyingly in his thick accent. "If you don't get over it sooner or later, you're probably going to-" he was cut off.

Garrick turned back to see his comrade drop his spear and shield and began to clutch at his throat, where a black wood arrow protruded from his neck, he fell to the ground, the arrow tearing through his flesh and emerging out the back of his neck as he hit the dirt.

"We're under atta-"!" Garrick managed to shout as another arrow flew through the air and into his throat. He too fell to the dirt, twitching slightly as he began to bleed into the earth.

This had not gone unnoticed however, as the guards in the tower began to ring the bell in the top of the tower. Men and women scrambled around the camp, some strapping on their armor, some their weapons and some only just waking up.

A force of five men found the bodies of the fallen guardsmen and looked around for the source before another arrow hit one man in the eye, he screamed in pain as blood began to flow from the now useless socket.

The other men raised their shields as several more arrows impacted. Some of them were lucky as the wooden shafts struck their shield and remained stuck, others not so lucky as the arrows found their way through the gaps between their shields or simply flew right through them and into their chests. Soon more men arrived and they began the slow, shielded march towards their attackers.

**_Arren's P.O.V_**

It was working, the rebels were now gathering to meet the threat of the rangers bows, leaving their flanks exposed. He moved back from the main firing line and drew an arrow with a blood red shaft, the signal with which would come the Legate's charge.

He stood there and inhaled deeply and drew the bow, he raised it to the heavens and prepared to fire.

Jack looked back at him after taking down another rebel. "One question," he asked with a cocky smile on his face,

"What if you miss?"

Arren turned to him and smiled behind his mask.

"I don't." He released the arrow and it went sailing through the air, over the rebel's shield wall, over their encampment and into the woods on the far side, where it struck into one of the great pine trees.

A figure clad in Imperial armor strode up to the tree. She yanked the arrow out and inspected it. She turned back to her troops who now stood eagerly.

"Move out!" she called and the Legion began their march through the forest towards the camp in tight formation, shields raised to mid height.

The combined sound of the footsteps of the entire legion sounded through the area, replacing whatever sound had inhabited the air prior.

As they emerged from the trees their horns sounded and the blood red banner, marked with the great dragon of the Empire, rose above their heads throughout the ranks.

On the field the Stormcloaks had begun to hear the new threat, but were already matched with the constant volley of the rangers, they could not risk turning to see the threat without exposing weakness to the marksmen.

The more they thought about it, the more they began to despair, either fall to legion blades in their backs, or to ranger's arrows. With every second the legionnaires drew closer and their horns grew louder. The fight was beginning.

**_Yeah I know terrible ending, but my skills in large battle scenes need improving so you will have to wait for a little to actually see that battle. So review and favorite if you liked it, and give me some feed back, it would be much appreciated. Cheers mates!_**


	2. Chapter 2

**_Welcome back to the second installment of "Of Shadow". If you are reading this it means I was able to keep your interest with the last one. So as I said in the last part of chapter one, I _****am not good ****_at big battle scenes (or at least I wasn't last time I tried). So if this fight, and the events that follow are not to your standard, then I am sorry. If however they are the exact opposite than I would be very thankful for some feedback. And I am well aware that I have used a number of Lord of the Rings lines only because they were awesome. Enjoy! _**

The Imperial force stood at the edge of the camp, their banners flying in the wind. They all stood in a tight box formation, a much more disciplined style than that of the rabble that stood before them.

Some of the Nords tried to leave their shield wall to charge the legionaries head on, but they were met with the quick death at the hands of the rangers, who still kept their advantage of distance and higher ground.

Harlen let his bowstring loose, the vibrating of the string followed by a dying scream as the arrow cut through a rebels flesh and into his heart.

"Hey Jack!" he called to his comrade, who had taken position behind another rock, "Seventeen already!" he called with a wide grin on his face.

"I'm on twenty three!" Jack called back whilst killing another, his grin even wider.

Harlen shook his face which morphed from a look of triumph, to surprise and finally to one of frustration.

"How in the name of...!" he began, but went back to shooting in the hopes he would catch up.

Off to the side of Harlen, Maria fired another arrow that merely struck the shield of one of the rebels.

She turned to Arren who was calmly drawing another shaft from his quiver.

"Sir they are getting closer, a few more minutes and they will be on us. Even if Rikke gets to them first they will break formation and charge us!"

Arren said nothing as he placed the arrow on his bowstring, slowly and calmly as if he were practising.

"Sir!" Maria nearly screamed at him.

Arren looked up, his face nothing but a shadow under his hood. He held up a finger, asking Maria to wait.

He spun around from behind his cover and fired, straight into the chest of another rebel. He spun back around behind his cover as arrows flew by where he once stood.

"Even if they do charge we will still hold the higher ground, and they do not expect that archers can fight up close." he said as he peaked out from behind his cover only to duck back behind it as a volley of arrows flew towards them, only to bounce off rocks, bury their heads within the surrounding trees or continue sailing through the air until they were out of sight.

"But Captain!" she protested. "They outnumber us, ten to one!"

Arren smiled under his mask.

"Then it is a fair fight."

On the other side of the battle field, the Legate and her troops were almost upon the rebel hoard. She held up her hand and the legion came to a halt. She drew her sword and held it to her face and closed her eyes.

"Gods await me." She prayed before she opened her eyes with ferocious determination burning within their centres.

She raised her sword above her head.

"For the Empire!" she called and the legion charged, screaming cries for battle, carnage and the thirst for the traitors' blood. As they approached the line of rebels, the Nords took their chances with the archers and charged to meet Imperial steel.

The two sides collided with devastating results, men went flying as warriors on each side flipped their enemies behind them over their shields, spears broke, swords rang and shields splintered.

Legate Rikke raised her sword as she brought it down with devastating force, driving through an attempted spear block and into the head of the traitor.

She turned, itching to draw more blood, and she was met by three of the largest Stormcloaks, one wielding a large iron battle axe, the others with fearsome great swords.

She raised her shield, ready to take the three head on.

Instead the two with the great swords fell to their knees, large arrows protruding from their chests.

In the confusion Rikke lunged forward, burying her blade deep within the last brute's stomach.

She turned to look at the archers on the hill, she could tell the shots were Arren's handwork. She raised her sword in gratitude to the ranger on the hill, then moved on to continue the carnage.

Arren drew another arrow and fired at the shield wall, the arrow merely striking the shield.

Only a few of the initial shield wall had stayed to deal with the rangers, and were now taking more advanced cover behind rocks and trees. They weren't as many as there were when they first began the shielded march, but there was still ten times more than the rangers.

Arren ducked behind cover as the arrows of the would be rebel archers flew by. He looked over to Maria.

"How many arrows do you have left?" he called.

"Not enough sir! They're going to overrun us any minute!" Arren nodded and ran out of cover, past Maria's position and over to Harlen and Jack.

"What's the situation for you two?" he asked poking out of cover sending an arrow into the head of another rebel.

"Low on arrows, and the Stormcloaks are getting cocky, they keep sending in men to try and flank us. These are reasonably trained soldiers, not bandits." Responded Harlen, swearing as an arrow just flew past his ear.

Jack poked the top of his head out of cover.

"You shoot worst than a blind drunk!" he taunted, and was met with the rebuttal of a volley, which just went over his head, as well as some taunts form the Nords on the other side.

Jack looked at the captain,

"Yeaaah they're getting closer."

Arren was about to respond when a call rang up from the Stormcloaks.

"For Skyrim!" They called in a chorus of gruff Nordic accents, and they began to charge. Those with bows dropped the burden of the long range weapons for axes that sat on their belts.

Each of the men were clearly unafraid, Arren admired their courage, but they were still the enemy. And they were going to fall. Maria ran over to Arren and the others, sword at the ready.

Arren looked among them. The rangers slung their bows on their backs and drew their swords, well crafted and marked with the sigil of the Empire.

Arren did the same, drawing his sword with a sharp ring of the blade exiting the sheath. He nodded to his men and they got into a crouching position.

Then as fast as the wind that carried the chill of the north, the rangers vaulted over the rocks, their cloaks flying in the wind. They raised their swords and charged.

"For the Empire!" called Arren, breaking his usual normal quiet tone for a voice filled with courage, strength and violence.

"For the Empire!" chorused his men. They charged down the hill, leaping over logs, rocks and other obstacles of nature.

When they but mere meters from the rebels they leapt through the air, their swords sailing through it like hawks in the sky. And they collided with the rebels.

The first to fall to Arren's blade was a large man wielding a menacing war hammer. Arren brought his blade forward in the hollow of his throat. Once his boots hit the ground he pulled the blade out, crouched to the ground and leapt for the next one.

Harlen ran straight at his opponent, who had foolishly raised his axe ready to strike. He tackled into him with his shoulder, sending him flying into his comrades, who each fell to a session of rabid stabs from the large ranger.

Maria came at the men in front of her with unbreakable speed. She whipped out a knife from his belt and in one fluid movement across her chest she cast it straight into the man in front of her.

The man fell backwards into his comrade, who under the distraction of the sudden corpse flying at him, had his throat slashed by the ranger, a splatter of blood on her face let Maria know she was victorious and still very much alive and she moved to the next man.

Jack charged at a pair of men in front of him, their spears levelled and ready to skewer the ranger. As he drew to about a meter from the spear point he sheathed his blade, but continued his path.

The Stormcloak thought this would be an easy victory he lunged out, but Jack was quicker.

He twisted his body, the spear speeding past him. As if it were no easier than grabbing something off a shelf Jack had disarmed the spearman.

The now unarmed man held up his hands in a meager surrender, but then decided that running was the better plan.

Jack grinned and raised the spear into a throwing position, but a like lighting appearing out of nothing a sword came spinning through the air, and the blade driving into the fleeing man.

He looked to his side.

"That's 27!' Harlen announced triumphantly with his hands on his hips.

"32." Jack said simply shrugging.

Harlen's eyes narrowed as he grabbed another rebel who ran by and threw him to the ground, pulling out a knife and driving it into his throat.

Jack chuckled and drove the spear into the back of another rebel.

Whilst the battle rages in the space beyond the Stormcloak camp, in the midst of the fortified encampment, the leader of the rebellious Nords paced from left to right, frustrated that we was not permitted to join the fight.

His officer's uniform would terrorize the enemy, had he only been given the permission to show his axe to the Imperial legion.

As he continued to pace, a soldier ran into his tent, a man in his late twenties, wearing a matching uniform to his superior.

"Sir, we have to leave. Now" The man stopped pacing to look at the younger officer.

"Do you mock me?" The officer reeled back in surprise.

"Sir?"

"I said: Do you mock me? I do not run. Never have, and I damn well don't plan on doing it, ever."

The Officer shook his head in what almost seemed like pity.

"I'm sorry sir, but Jarl Ulfric ordered me to tell you not to engage in the battle, and to return to Windhelm should the situation fall out of repair."

The veteran Nord held his tongue, anger boiling deep inside. Then with a mighty snarl he slammed a clawed gauntlet into the table, leaving it in splinters.

"Fine." He said bitterly, as he began to storm out of the tent towards the stables, but not before glaring at the younger officer.

"Be mindful though, whelp: I'll make sure that you get the lash for this." He spat before walking away.

Maria slashed the throat of the last man running towards herself and her comrades. The force that had tried to take the hill had failed, and now the battle was coming to a swift end between the Legionaries and the Stormcloaks.

Each of the rangers cloaks had now been dirtied with blood and soil, far from the usual state when they would lurk in the shadows of the wood.

"All right," said Jack who wiped his blade clean on a fallen rebel. "Final count... 40." He said triumphantly as he walked to Harlen, who sat on a rock cleaning his blade.

"40?" he said with a great surprised look on his face. "That's not bad for a young lad like yourself." But his look of surprise changed into a cheeky smile. "I myself am sitting on 41." He said, his small smile expanding into a large grin.

"You lie!" said Jack, his voice partly filled with frustration and confusion. There was no way the old man had caught up to him.

"Do I now?"

"Yes, you do!" Jack hesitated and looked around, smiling slightly at the sight of one last Stormcloak trying to make a run for it.

He pulled out a knife and brought his arm back, but before he sent it a lone arrow went sailing through the air, striking the man where he stood.

The two looked back to their captain who lowered his bow.

"47." He said smiling under his mask.

His men were about to protest when a cry went up from the camp. The rangers turned to see a group of horses riding away from the dying battle, and atop of one of them what looked like a rebel officer.

"Captain!" called the legate who stood in the courtyard of the camp. "After him!"

Without hesitation Arren charged from his spot into the vegetation. He leaped over fallen logs and tree roots, pushing the low-lying branches out of the way.

A fallen log that had been wedged in between the forking branches of another tree made a suitable ramp as Arren ran up it's smooth surface at a speed that rivalled that of Khajiit acrobat.

He leapt from branch to branch, his speed uninterrupted and his determination as hard as steel.

He knew that there was a road that bent through the hills of the forest, he could cut them off there.

As he ran across his final branch, arms out stretched providing his balance, he caught sight of the road before him.

From further up the road he heard the thunder of horses fast approaching. He would have to act fast.

He ran from off of the branch and leaped for another, swinging from its chilled surface, through the air and landing back on the ground in a crouched position.

From off his belt he pulled out a large bundle of thin but powerful rope, with a large spiked blade tied to one end.

It was called a rope claw, an ancient Khajiit tool that allowed its wielder to strike quickly and from a distance. In this case it would be perfect for the party that was rapidly gaining ground.

Uncoiling the rope and holding the blade above his head, he began to throw the blade around and around, making a noise that could only be described as cutting through the space above his head, causing the very air to howl in pain.

When he was satisfied that it has reached a suitable speed he let it fly. It was sent sailing through the air and embedded itself in a tree with a loud thump. He smiled at his work. The old Khajiit that taught him to use it would be proud.

He looked to his left and saw the group of horses charging up the road towards him, at least six of them. He casually walked off the road, letting the robe go slack in his hand. They hadn't noticed him, yet.

It had to be just right, any sooner and he would ruin it and the horses would see the threat. He was trained to do this, to resiset the impatience that coursed through his body as his mind filled with doubts.

He had to trust his instincts. He closed his eyes, waited for the thundering to get louder. And louder. And even with his eyes closed to the world, his mind was more open than ever. Without second guessing instinct, he pulled the rope as hard as he could, using his own body as an anchor to pull it around a second tree.

And then it happened. The beasts whinned in panic as they all fell to the ground with a call of pain, each beast tripping over the rope as well as their brothers, sending their riders off their saddles and into a flailing mess of panicking bodies.

Arren stepped out from behind the trees and stood there for a moment. His green eyes hidden under his hood and, the smirk of satisfaction sat behind his mask.

With a sharp yank he pulled the Johyo from its resting place, coiling its up at the speed a snake would coil its own body. He shifted position and began to walk toward the mess of fallen animals.

But from the midst of them, a figure stood. He was garbed in a bear skin hood, his gloves with spiked gauntlets, with a grey braided beard and muscles as bid as most branches.

The man looked at the mess around him, most of the horses were dead and those that weren't would have to be put down.

Each of the soldiers that accompanied him had broken their necks or spines, resulting in instant death. He looked Arren, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

"You." he said picking a large battle axe from one of the fallen soldiers. "You'll die for this Imperial." He said as he began to trudge towards Arren, gripping the axe in both of his hands.

"Under the authority given to me by the Emperor, I am placing you under arrest." Arren declared calmly. "Come quietly and I will see to it that mercy will be had upon you. Surrender or die."

He knew that words would never work with a Nord, especially of this ones caliber.

The old warrior raised his axe, ready to lop the ranger's head off.

As the axe came down Arren acted, rolling to one side, drawing his bow and an arrow out in mid roll. As he settled into a crouched position, he gazed around for the man, only to be met with the sight of his axe coming down on him almost instantly.

He rolled again, but he knew that this would be the last time, the Nord was a warrior. Even though he was at the time a berserker, there would be some small part of his mind analyzing, predicting the ranger's next move.

"I! Will! Kill you!" shouted the Nord as he brought his axe down a third time. But Arren was quicker, as the axe came down, instead of retreating from it, he ran straight at the rebel, dodging the axe, and tackling the Nord to the ground.

The man made an attempt for Arren's throat, but was stopped by a rapid succession of punches, striking him on both the left and the right sides of his face.

"Yield to me." Arren said coldly, his fist raised for another punch.

The Stormcloak merely spat at him, a spray of blood from a couple of broken teeth and Arren brought his fist down directly into the Nords nose, which broke with a satisfying crack.

The older warrior growled in pain.

"Yield!" Arren shouted right into the man's face, one hand raised in a fist ready to strike again, the other holding the man by the scruff of his amour.

A low chuckle escaped the warrior.

"Before I do, I would see your face, Imperial dog."

Arren growled in frustration, then with his raised fist he brought it down to pull down his mask, and then pulled back his hood to reveal his face.

At the sight of him the old Nord scowled.

"Why does a son of Skyrim fight for the Empire?" he asked, his voice filled with both anger and sadness.

"Because we need the Empire."

The Nord scoffed and shook his head.

"Not anymore, traitor." He said. The words may not have been much, but it was the disowning of his kind that Arren felt a brief stab at his heart.

As Arren was about to deliver his rebuttal, a series of footsteps crashing through the undergrowth. Soon Harlen, Jack and Maria emerged from the wood, bows drawn and pointed straight at the downed Nord.

"Told you he would catch him." said Jack triumphantly.

Harlen growled in his throat.

"You'll get your Septims, don't worry." the larger ranger replied reluctantly, whilst Maria just rolled her eyes.

"I think what these two are trying to say, is good job sir." she said, her grip on the arrow not loosening in the slightest.

Arren nodded to his comrade as he stood up from his opponent.

"That's a victory for the Legion," Maria said happily. "and a prisoner for the Rangers." She declared as she poked said prisoner with her foot

"Leave him alone Maria, this Nord has had enough shame already." Arren said calmly as he pulled his mask and hood back up, his face becoming nonexistent.

Maria acknowledged the order and kept her distance as a small troupe of Imperial cavalry came rising around the road, the armored Legate Rikke leading the legionaries.

As they neared the beasts began to slow into a trot before coming to a stop right in front of the Rangers.

"Congratulations Captain, I must say I wasn't expecting you to catch them, especially while on foot." Rikke said with a warm smile for her old friend.

"That's what I was thinking." grumbled Harlen.

Rikke glanced confusingly, at the ranger, then focused her attention back to Arren and his prisoner.

"General Tullius will be pleased, this is a clear sign of exactly what the Legion is capable of, and that the gods favour the servants of the Empire."

A deep chuckle escaped the Nord who still laid on the ground, blood running freely from his nose.

"Coming from those who would sooner surrender Talos than die in his name for the very empire he created."

Both Rikke, her troops and the Rnagers ignored the old mans words.

"Have you and your rangers return to camp." ordered the Legate. "There will be a hot meal and some well deserved ale waiting for you. And I insist that you dine with me in the officers tent."

Arren bowed his head to the legate.

Despite his teams invisible eyes from under their hoods, Arren could feel each of them cast a look to the ground at the thought of not being able to celebrate with their Captain.

"Thank you for the kind gesture Legate," Arren replied. "but I would prefer to eat with the Legionaries, they are the heroes of this battle, and I want to hear their stories."

The rest of his ranger's smiled only the lower halves of their faces revealing the proud smiles from under their cowls.

The Legate was going to ask, or maybe even insist further but she stopped herself.

"Very well, Captain. We will take the prisoner, have fun with the men." She said as she motioned for one of her fellow riders.

The man urged his horse forward, jabbing the Nord with a butt of his spear.

With a grunt the old man stood.

"So, this is the mighty Galmar Stone-Fist? I expected...more." said the Legionary as he went to jab him again, but the spear was stopped by an outshot hand from Arren.

"Take him back to camp soldier, nothing more." Arren growled to the rider.

The man nodded nervously.

"Y-Yes captain." He replied before bringing his horse around behind Galmar.

Before he began to move the Nord took one long look at Arren, the old Nord's dark blue eyes, shooting straight into the Ranger's green ones.

"I will remember your face, Imperial." He said before marching off down the road, the Imperial cavalry forming around him.

Arren watched as the Nord walked away, unable to deny the hurt he felt for what he had done.

But he had done his duty to the Empire, and that was all he ever asked to do.

He felt the other ranger's eyes on him. He turned to them and held out his hand making a spinning motion with his finger, silently signaling the others to move out.

In an instant the Rangers moved back into the wilderness, disappearing of the face of Mundas.

Arren knew that he and Galmar would meet again someday, but on that day the old Nord would not be in chains, and not blinded in a fit of bloodlust. But there would be blood all the same.


	3. Chapter 3

"-and the bragger named Ragnar was boastful no mo-ore, as his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!" and an applause sounded around the large bonfire as Harlen bowed to the praises of his fellow rangers, as well as the many Legionaries that were able to get close enough to hear him.

He leaned his lute against the log that he and Arren were sitting on.

The captain gave his old friend a pat on the back as he sat down, a very rare grin on his face, where usually a shadow would be.

For once Arren did not have his hood up, or his mask. Instead his face was for all to see that night as the Legion celebrated their victory against the Stormcloaks.

He looked around the fire site, the faces of the races of men, Imperial, Nord and Breton all united. As well as a few rare elves and beast races that proved that there was still loyalty to the Empire founded by Tiber Septim.

Arren admired the unity and loyalty that all of these people shared. Each ready to give their lives in the defense of the peace and justice that was provided solely by the Empire.

As Arren pondered over the virtues that were shown around the fire, Jack, who had drank far too much mead than was to be permitted by regulations, stood slowly, wobbling slightly and spilling half of his fifth drink on the fire. Which rose to a greater height at the touch of the beverage.

"Here's to the captain! Whose aim is truer than any wood-elf!" he said as he raised his mug, smiling at his commander and friend.

"Hail Arren True-Shot!" chorused the men who raised their mugs likewise, and each of them took a large swig of their assorted drinks.

"Say a few words captain!" called one of the men, a Redguard whose helmet was on backwards.

"Tell us of your fight with _*hic* _Galmar Stone-fist!" called an Imperial that hiccupped from the abuse of the supply of Alto wine.

Many of the soldiers were now calling for the ranger to stand and say at least something.

He shook his head at the idea, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself.

However a solid push from Harlen and Maria on either side was enough to get him forcibly on his feet.

Arren smiled nervously as he looked around the fire at the faces of the legionaries.

"I'll tell you now, I am not the very good at speeches," many of the men, including the rangers began encourage him to talk. "However I will say this: It was not me, nor my fellow ranger's that won the battle today."

A small murmur went around the fire.

"It is you, the men and women of the Empire, that won us this victory." He motioned at his friends. "We may be the ones who have brought the Nord General into custody, but it was YOU, the Legionaries of the Empire, that defeated the army. So," he said as he raised his first and only half finished drink, "Here is to you. Hail to the true heroes of the Empire!"

"Hail Legionaries of the Empire!" chorused the rest of the rangers, and a cheer erupted from the crowd, as comrades patted each other hard on the back, slammed their mugs together, and reveled in the taste of victory.

While the men cheered away, Arren sat down quietly, not wanting to have to say anything else to the crowd. He wasn't one for crowds, he never had been. He reflected back to when he had turned 15, the last birthday he had had in Whiterun.

He had been surprised at just how many of the town had turned up to give their congratulations. He had never considered himself to be popular. The only thing that had stopped him from running out of the door had been Evelette.

He had never considered her more than a friend at that stage, so her being there was merely a small comfort. It was only a few days after that he had shared that moment with her outside the gates.

Arren's heart sank at the memory of the beautiful blond Nord. She was really the only thing that he had left behind in Skyrim. She was the only thing that was worth returning for.

There had been of coarse Arren's brother, Artemis, who had left the family in Cyrodiil to return to Skyrim. Although Arren never really cared much for his brother.

He was scum. When they had moved to the Imperial city, they had more than enough to survive, but that did not matter to Artemis. He would sneak into the noble's district, and steal whatever he could lay his hands on, and every week he would be in some kind of trouble with the law.

He may have been blood, but he was still a criminal, and as much as Arren hated to admit it, he was one for law and order.

Arren's thoughts of ties between blood and duty were interrupted when a voice, much stronger and more articulate than that of any of the Legionaries spoke up, causing silence around the fire.

"So, I trust the men are enjoying themselves?"

Every man around the fire stood at attention at the sight of the man, the Rangers not noticing him stood fast when a backwards glance brought their eyes on him.

He was an officer, but his uniform was more than the average Legate. It was less bulky, but was thick leather, lined with golden metal trimming.

The man himself was not as tall as Arren. Judging by his light tan Arren made him out for an Imperial man. There was something in his eyes that told the Ranger Captain that he had seen his fair share of the fires of war.

And finally the last thing he noticed was that his hair was white as the snow of the north, starting to disappear with age just like the snow did in the approaching summers.

The man nodded for the Legionaries to stand at ease, but then looked to Arren.

"Captain True-shot, follow me please." The man said briefly as he turned on his heel and marched back to the officer's tent.

Arren turned to his fellow rangers who simply shrugged in reply to the mental question, '_What do I do?' _Without knowing the answer himself, Arren followed the officer.

As Arren entered the tent, he first took in his surroundings. It was a large tent, with enough space for several men to fit inside, there was a table where sat a map of the Nord province with a number of red and blue flags pinned to it.

There was another desk at the back of the room where a number of rolls of parchment and a quill sat and finally there was a chest in the corner, its contents unknown to Arren.

He took in the presence of the people in the room. There were a number of officers standing around the table who stood to attention when the officer, the man who was still unknown to Arren, had walked in.

There was also Legate Rikke who stood in the corner as well as what appeared to be an Altmer scribe that sat at the desk.

Rikke smiled and nodded to Arren as he walked in who replied likewise.

One of the other Officers, a Red guard with short black hair and a thin moustache, noticed he walked in and approached the ranger.

"Ah, Captain True-Shot, it is an honor. I am Legate Taurinus Duilis. I've heard of your accomplishments at the Imperial city. You should be proud of yourself." He said as he extended a hand in greeting.

Arren took the man's hand and shook it.

"You flatter me, sir. And I am proud for what my skills can do for the Empire, and its people." The officer smiled.

"Good man. I must say I knew you were young, but I never expected-"

"Gentlemen, if you would leave us." Asked the leading Officer, "Legate Rikke you remain please."

The men saluted with a strong fist over their hearts and left the tent.

Taurinus looked to Arren once more with a smile.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance captain, if you ever find yourself in Morthal be sure to pay me a visit. It'd be nice to have a drink with a hero." He said as he exited the tent.

The officer motioned to the scribe that still sat at his desk.

"Scribe, leave us."

The Altmer stood. He may have been taller than any of the people in the tent, but he had utmost respect for the soldiers.

"Of course General Tullius." He said with a bow and vacated the tent, leaving Arren in shock.

As quick as he could he snapped to attention.

"General, it's an-"

"At ease Captain."

Arren slowly and unsurely stood back at ease.

General Tullius, one of the greatest leaders in the Imperial Legion now stood before him and he did not care for the respect that Arren was trying to give him.

"I'm sorry for not telling you who I am, I did not want all of the attention from the men by the fire. I only just arrived from the Imperial City, and I will not be here long. I hope you understand."

"Of course, General. There is no need for apologies."

Tullius nodded, his expression remaining neutral.

"Very good." He said as he strode over to the desk where the scribe had sat, and picked up several documents, flicking through each of them with an obvious interest in his eyes.

"Arren True-Shot. Joined the Legion at age eighteen showing extraordinary skill at archery and unseen movement by day and night. Was assigned to the Imperial scouts at age nineteen, completing over ten high profile missions, twice saving the lives of his comrades while still maintaining orders.

"Two years later inducted into the rangers, was made captain after three years. For the past six years has successfully completed each mission assigned to him and his team." He finished and placed the papers back on the desk. "Do you know what that tells me about you captain?"

Arren shook his head.

"I don't know sir."

"It means you are one of, if not, the best that we have." Tullius told him as he moved to lean against the table where sat the map of Skyrim. "Men like you are hard to come by, ones that inspire the hearts of men, yet still stay true to their oath."

"I merely follow my orders sir. Just like any good soldier."

The aged General smiled.

"Yes, that is true." He sighed, picking up one of the small flags off to the side of the map, playing with it in his fingers. "True-Shot. Just like the potion?" he said looking up at Arren who nodded.

"I can tell you this Captain; I have been all over the Empire. Names of heroes are common things to hear. The Hero of Kvatch, Tess Rysan of the Fighters Guild, Red Sonia, Ruined-Tail.

"But the names of famous soldiers these days are hard to come by. Balian the Brave, Sigmus the cunning. But Arren True-Shot... now that is a name that every soldier of the Empire knows. Even many of the Empire's citizens look up to the legend. I've even heard that Goric Guine is in the process of writing a book on what of your stories are based on facts instead of rumors."

Arren's face went slightly red and he looked to the ground, about as close to embarrassment he had gotten in a long time.

"You flatter me greatly sir." Tullius smiled and shook his head.

"It matters not. It is not your fame that I wish to talk about. It is a request I would like to make of you."

Arren head practically perked up at the prospect of service.

"What would you have me do?" Tullius let out a small chuckle.

"It's not a mission if that is what you are thinking. I merely would like you and your team to accompany myself and Legate Rikke to the Blue Palace, in Solitude."

Arren's heart nearly skipped a beat, the General wanted him, _him, _to come with him to the palace of the now widowed wife of the late High King, Jarl Elisif the Fair.

"What is the occasion, General?" the ranger asked curious as to why he would travel to Skyrim's capital.

"Well, as you know Jarl Elisif recently lost her husband, High King Torryg. I was in Cyrodiil when the event occurred, and am only now returning to pay my condolences, as well as device a plan to end this war before it can truly begin in earnest."

Arren felt that he stood a little higher, making him even taller than the General than he already was.

"I'll have my men ready to leave whenever we are ready, sir." Tullius smiled once more.

"That is what I like to hear captain, now go get some rest, we leave for Solitude at the sun rise. It will take us a good two days to reach the city on horseback, but we can make a stop in the town of Rorickstead tomorrow night if we stick to schedule."

Arren saluted with a fist over his heart.

"Then I shall see you at the sun's rising, General." Arren said before he turned and walked out of the tent, excitement, happiness and a sense of adventure in his blood.

"Oh hello my dear...*_snore_*...that's a nice dress you have on...*_snore_*... how's about we take a look at what is under it...*_snore_*..."

Arren smirked alongside Maria, both of them already dressed in the robes and armor as they looked down at Jack and Harlen who were still very much asleep.

Jack was talking in his sleep to a woman whilst hugging an empty bottle of ale, while Harlen was snoring like a lumber mill.

Arren looked to Maria, hardly any light coming through the tent as dawn approached.

"You want to do it, or shall I?"

The lady smiled deviously.

"By all means Arren, help yourself." she said holding up a bucket.

Arren gladly took the bucket by the handle, then held it in both hands as he threw the ice cold water on his sleeping comrades, who both jolted upright awake, Harlen even had a knife out.

The two now fully awaken rangers looked up at Arren and Maria.

"So Jack, did you convince her to remove her dress this time?" Arren asked smartly.

Jack's wide-awake eyes shot from his captain to his female comrade, his face going as red as beetroot.

When he received a suggestive smirk and a roll of the young woman's eyes he hung his head in shame.

"By the eight... not again."

Harlen yawned and shifted in his saddle as the riders continued to gallop north along the road.

The troupe was made out of the four rangers, General Tullius and Legate Rikke, as well as five other cavalry riders and a standard bearer, who held the banner by his side as they rode. At the lead was the General and the bearer, followed by the Legate and the rangers then the cavalry.

Arren looked around the surrounding plains. They had been riding for half of the day now. When the troupe had set off they had each been given a horse, which was different for the rangers.

They were trained to ride as well as any man but they mostly walked or ran across the country side. It was harder to pick up the tracks of leather boots than the hooves of a steed.

The beast gifted to Arren was a beautiful chestnut mare, named Dana. He had taken an immediate liking to the horse, as did the beast to him. The horse master that had given the horse had said that Dana had now formed a bond with Arren, and would always remain close enough whenever she was needed.

It felt good riding Dana, and now that she was his, he would have opportunity to ride her whenever needed, instead of just walking the roads of Tamriel. He didn't mind walking, he preferred it, but torn boots were hard to replace, especially ranger quality. A horse would at least make his purse feel a little heavier once an a while.

As the tripue continued across the great tundra's they were behold to the vast fields of dried brown and yellow grass, that turned to gold as the first rays of the new day hit them. It was truly a sight only found under a swift northern sunrise.

But something in the distance caught the Ranger's eye, and he pulled back on Dana's reigns, bringing her to a slow halt.

He stared off to the east. It was barely visible, but it was definite that he could see what looked like a tower, rising up from the landscape.

"Whiterun watch tower..." Arren said to himself.

He remembered walking to it every week, then running back up the hill to the city, training to be a fast runner.

"Home..." he muttered. His home, his friends, Evelette, were just beyond that tower, if he left now he could make it before sunset.

"Arren?" called out Jack from the troupe, which had stopped to wait for him. "Are you alright?"

Arren took one last look at the tower, before turning Dana around to join the riders again.

"It's nothing. Let's go."

The General raised a brow at Arren before shaking his head, clearing whatever questions he might have had, and the riders continued along the road, northward to Rorickstead.

Erick was surrounded, foes on every side. All he had was his trusty battle-axe, handed down from his father, it would serve him well.

He held it in both hands, eyes going over each foe. As fast as the lighting sent by Kynareth, he swung his weapon through the air, left, right overhead.

As the last of his foes knelt before him, he brought his axe down with a satisfying swing, the axe continuing through the neck and into the ground.

"Ha ha! Victory is mine!" Erik called as he raised his weapon above his head in triumph.

"Erick!" called his father.

Erik panicked and dropped his plough to the ground, where the freshly turned soil was now ruined after his various hacking and slashing.

"What are you doing? Were you day dreaming again?" barked the older man.

"N-no father! I was just uh..."

His father crossed his arms, awaiting his excuse.

"You were just? Out with it!"

An idea popped into Erick's head.

"I thought I saw a skeever! I panicked!" He said with a small light of hope in his eyes.

"If there was a skeever, than where are the tracks? And where did it go?" his father enquired asked, as a questioning brow rose.

Erik went for an excuse but his father held up his hand.

"I don't want to hear it. Just get back to work boy." He said as he walked back into the inn.

Erik sighed and picked up his plough and began to fix the holes he had made in the soil.

It was not fair, he didn't want to be stuck in this boring little town for the rest of his life, he want to go out, and explore the world.

His father didn't understand, he may be content with running the inn, but Erik would never be content with farming.

Once he fixed the up the damage he had done to the field, he leaned against his plough and sighed, upon which he finally saw the group of riders approaching, bearing the banner of the Empire.

Arren looked ahead at the small little town. Rorickstead, one of the two villages in Whiterun hold. It was mostly a farming community with only a few resident guards and an inn.

As the group approached, Arren could see that the residents were clearly nervous. Parents were calling their children in from playing. Some of the men kept their farming tools in their hands. They weren't much against Imperial steel, but they could still pack a punch, and the townspeople outnumbered the riders greatly.

As the horses began to reach the beginning of the town, two men began to approach the riders.

One wore a simple set of clothes but carried a small iron axe on his belt.

The other man had a sword at his side, and wore expensive looking attire.

The troupe of riders stopped as the two men got close enough and they too stopped.

"Greetings my lords, I am Rorick, founder of this town. I trust you are not here to cause trouble."

Tullius raised a hand in greeting.

"I am General Tullius of the Imperial Legion. This is Legate Rikke, my second in command, and Captain True-Shot of the Imperial Rangers."

The man, Rorick, looked quite startled at the names.

"General! This is an honor! I was once a member of the Legion myself during the Great War. Might I ask what brings you to our little community?"

"Merely passing through. We ask only for food, water and place to stay where animals won't snatch us in the night. We will be out of here before morning."

Rorick bowed slightly to Tullius.

"Of course sir, it would be my honor to have you here on my land. Your men can set up camp up just a little north of the town, you and your comrades can visit the inn later. Mralki here will keep you satisfied." He said gesturing to his companion who bowed his head.

"And," he continued, "It would be my great honor to have you and the Legate eat at my table this evening. I'll have my wife prepare an extra mammoth steak."

"It would be my pleasure, sir." The General thanked with a nod before turning to his men. "Move out." He said to his comrades as they made their way off the main road to just a ways off the town.

When they were gone Mralki whispered to Rorick.

"Are you sure it is a good idea to let Imperial troops stay in the town? The Jarl hasn't even declared whose side he's on yet."

"That is because for now the Jarl's best interests are that of his people. For now we treat them like any guests. But should they cause trouble..." he said as he looked as the cloaked rangers set up their tents. "...Then keep your axe on hand."

Maria gave a quick glance to the side to see the two men that had welcomed them, staring at them, as if they were an opposing army on the other side of the battlefield.

"Why is it that no matter where we go we get looks like that?" she asked no one in particular.

Arren, who had finished setting up his tent, said nothing as he pulled his knife across a small grindstone that fit into his hand.

"Maybe it's just them." Offered Jack, desperate for some conversation to remove the awkwardness that had hung between him and the woman since he awoke that morning.

"Farmers are a shifty sort when soldiers come around. Especially Nords. We're either here to take levy for some local lord or burn the place to the ground."

"But they're not looking at the soldiers they're looking at _us_." Maria argued, scanning the numerous houses that dotted the area, seeing the faces of men women starring in their direction as they went about the tasks.

Even children were pulled inside and away from the windows as if in fear that they were to be snatched.

"I think Jack's right, as much as I hate to say it." Spoke Harlen as he popped his head out of his own tent. "They're Nords, they've been bitter at the Empire since the war ended. And did you see the way that Rorrick fella only invited Rikke and the General to dine?" he asked looking around his comrades before casting his gaze at the small manor that sat slightly higher above the other dwellings.

"No way a former soldier would refuse the company of a Ranger like Arren."

"You all have a point." Spoke Arren as he continued to work the blade in his hand.

"They are right to be weary because they know we're Rangers. We have a somewhat hazy reputation to the rest of the world."

"What do you mean?" piped Jack who had begun trying to start a fire with the wood they brought with them. "Everywhere I went in Cyrodiil I was welcomed with open arms by most folk. Got me a free bed a meal a few times with this cloak."

"Be that as it may," continued Arren. "That was Cyrodiil. And you must have been lucky enough to be in the places where the people know who and what we are. And appreciate what we do."

"Okay now I'm confused." Harlen declared as he sat in front of his tent.

"When aren't you?" giggled Jack, before leaping off the ground and sprinting for cover as the larger Ranger charged his smaller comrade, shouting curses and threats of what would happen when he caught him.

Needless to say it seemed that the two of them had now dropped the subject of Rangers, leaving only Maria with curiosity in her mind.

"So what do the people think of us?" She asked as she came and sat beside her friend, twirling her own dagger around in her hand.

"We're Ranger's," he answered, looking up at her. "No one really knows who we are or what we do. That's what scares them." he pulled his dagger away from the stone to examine its edge, running his finger along the edge.

"Most people think we're sorcerers. Or that we're some kind of daedra controlled by secret Imperial mages."

"But that Rorrick was a soldier. Surely he would know what we really are. He should have invited you to his table." She grumbled.

"He was a soldier," Arren began to explain. "Meaning that he was most likely on the front lines of the war, facing the elves head on." His eyes cast to the ground. "He probably resents the Rangers for their part."

Maria looked up from he own knife.

"What _did _the Rangers do during the war? I never found anything when I looked in the archives."

A sigh escaped the captain as he recalled the memory of his master telling him of what had happened all those years ago.

"The rangers did what they always did. Sneak in the dark; assassinate key members of the Dominion. Gather information-"

"Then why does he insist on disliking you?" she demanded, standing abruptly from beside him and beginning to pace around the campsite in frustration. "We played our part in the war! We did just as much as they did! We-!"

She stopped when she felt a gloved hand enter hers, she looked down to see Arren gazing up at her, a look of what almost looked like shame etched on his face.

"It was Darius Garcus, Grandmaster of the Rangers, who advised the Emperor to accept the White-Gold Concordant, so that the people might live."

The woman's eyes widened in realization.

"So you're saying it's because of the Ranger that the Emperpor gave up Talos worship?"

"No, the Grandmaster merely advised that it may not have been in the best interests of the people, but if he didn't do it there wouldn't' be a people to have _any _interest."

Arren eyes surveyed the village once more, watching as men, women and children cast them a glances of suspicion. They were like wolves, watching in wait for them to wander too close and then tear their throats out.

"Few are privy to this Maria," he said as he brought his eyes to hers once more. "No one must know. Many only fear us because they fear the unknown. Most believe that our hand in the White Gold Concordant is just some Dominion propaganda from the south. You must promise though that you will not tell anyone."

"A-Arren I-"

"Promise me." He pleaded, his eyes like a hound begging his master for food.

"No one shall ever hear of it, sir." She said with a smile, before looking down to have her face go deep red.

It was only now that the two of them realized that they were still holding each other's hand.

"I-I… Thank you for the talk, _Captain._" She said before removing her hand from his.

"That desperate to get away from me are you?" he asked, leaving her going even redder.

But her skin quickly turned back to the soft tanned surface that it was as she smiled suggestively.

"Oh you'd like it if it was like _that_, wouldn't you?" she asked as Arren smiled along with her.

Arren merely gave a smile and shrugged as he continued to run his finger along the length of the knife.

He tried to resist her, but Arren could not deny that he and Maria had grown close during their time together. He did his best to remain loyal to the idea of Evelette, but whenever doubts of her availability slipped into his mind he would always find himself thinking of the Imperial woman.

He could not help it if she was exotically beautiful, her skin a lighter shade of brown because of her Imperial and Redguard heritage.

Soon Harlen and Jack returned to their campsite, their uniforms and cloaks covered with dirt and tundra grass, and several fresh bruises dotting each others faces.

"So." Jack said happily as he placed his hand on his hips. "What did we miss?"

"Oh just a history lesson." Answered Maria. "Nothing that would spike your interests." She said as she gave an all-knowing smile to her Captain.

It was a few hours later after a long run through the tundra that Arren and the other rangers entered the inn, the sound of laughter and cheering hitting them immediately like a hammer on steel.

The other legionaries had come to the inn much sooner, and had gotten well into its supply of mead and ale. They all drank heartedly, none of them in uniform, and they did not show the slightest bit of interest to the rangers who walked in still wearing the cloaks.

The four of them removed their hoods; Harlen and Jack moved for the main bar, whilst Maria pulled a small book from out of her pocket and went to sit at one of the benches.

Arren himself went to sit beside the woman. Though they smiled to each other as he sat, his thoughts resided to the east.

Whiterun, it was so close yet so far. He craved to see it again, to see all of the faces he had left behind. The Grey-Mane brothers Thorald and Avulstein as well as their sister Olfina. The Battle-Born brothers, Idolaf and Jon, even Adrianna, the Redguard girl that spent all her time working at her father's forge.

But Evelette was the one that his mind kept coming back to; it was she and she alone that made him crave to see the sight of the walled city.

Soon a young boy, no older than nineteen at least, came over and disturbed his thoughts of home.

"Good evening sir, madam, can I get you anything?"

Maria shook her head politely whilst Arren hesitated for a second, unsure if the boy was addressing him.

"What? Oh, yes, uh... what do you have?"

"Well that depends are you thirsty, hungry or-"

Arren began to chuckle at the young man's words.

"I'm sorry," the boy said politely, "But did I say something funny?"

"No, no, it's just... well if I had a Septim for every time I heard an inn hand say that I wouldn't have to work another day in my life."

The boy smiled unsurely.

"You must have been to a lot of inns then." But then something sparked in his mind and he quickly sat down next to Arren who seemed rather surprise at the action.

"That must mean you have been all over Skyrim!" he said excitedly.

Arren smirked.

"Skyrim? No, I haven't been back here in years, the rest of the Empire is another story."

The smile on the boys face increased in size.

"You've been all over the Empire? Where?"

"Hammerfell, Morrowind, Highrock, all over Cyrodiil. One of the bonuses of being a member of the Legion is that you get to see places."

The boy's face was lit up with a smile so large that Arren was worried his lips might tear in half.

The boy's hand instantly shout out.

"I'm Erik by the way, the innkeepers son."

Arren was a little taken by the sudden introduction but took the hand and shook it all the same.

"I'm Arren, Arren True-Shot."

"So you know what it is like to explore the world?" Erik asked instantly.

"Uh... yes, why?" the young man looked over his shoulder at his father who laughed away with Harlen and Jack at the main bar.

"Well you see I want to do what you do, not be a soldier, but an adventurer. I want to see the world, meet new people, have my own stories to tell rather than just listen to the ones brought by travellers."

Arren raised a brow, looking slightly confused.

"Well that's great. Why don't you do that?"

Erik sighed.

"My father won't let me, he says it's too dangerous, and that I should just stick to farming, maybe inherit the inn when he dies. He was in the Legion, he got to see the world, but he expects me to remain bottled up in this little village."

"True," replied Arren. "But your father fought in the Great War. That wasn't exactly the best time to get to see the world. Half of it was engulfed in flame at the time. The kind of things he must have seen is more than enough to support his claim that it is a dangerous world out there, a good reason to want you to stay safe."

Erik looked rather hurt, but also had a small feeling of understanding.

"However," continued Arren, "It is _your_ life, you are free to do what you choose. I'll have a talk with your father if you like. Convince him to at least let you leave the village." \

Erik's face brightened once more.

"You'd do that?" he asked.

Arren simply smiled.

"I'm doing it." He said as he stood up from the bench leaving Maria rolling her eyes but wtill with a smile on her face.

"Typical Arren." She muttered as he began to walk over to the bar where Mralki gave Harlen and Jack some more drinks before they moved off to join Maria, greeting Arren as they passed.

As Arren approached, the legionnaires that had been drinking began to leave, some still with a bottle in their hands.

Mralki did not let this go unnoticed.

"Hey Imperials!" he called and a few of the soldiers turned back to him. "You need pay for those!"

The soldiers all laughed in a drunken fit until one of them spoke up.

"We repay you for the mead *_hic_* with the continued protection that we offer you when the big bad rebels come to burn your village to the ground."

They burst out laughing once more before stumbling out the door back to the camp.

Mralki sighed and finally noticed Arren standing there.

"Oh sorry, good evening. What can a get you Captain?"

Arren moved onto one of the stools.

"I'm not thirsty at the moment, I want to talk to you about your son."

The old innkeeper's eyes went wide with fear as he looked at his son who still sat at the bench with the Rangers.

"My son? What has he done? I swear I take full responsibility for whatever wrong he has done you."

Arren held up a hand to silence him.

"He hasn't done anything, worry yourself not. Rather I am here to ask you about something that he wants to speak of. He wants to leave Rorickstead and see the world, and he says that you will not let him."

Mralki sighed and picked up a mug and began to clean it with a cloth.

"Look I've told him already the answer is no. He can't just go wondering off, into the blue." He looked over at his son again who was beginning to listen intently on the stories that the other rangers offered.

The innkeeper leaned in so that Arren could hear him.

"Besides, you and I both know that it is a dangerous world out there, what if he gets hurt?... or worse?"

Arren nodded.

"I know it is a dangerous world out there. But your son has a right to follow his heart. Why did you join the Legion during the war?"

Mralki looked startled by the question.

"We all heard the call of duty, and we flocked to it to defend our Empire."

Arren shook his head.

"I'm not asking about everyone else, I'm asking about _you_."

"Because I was following my-" Mralki stopped himself. "Because in my heart I knew it was the right thing to do."

"Exactly." Arren said. "Now I'm no father, and gods forbid me from being one," he joked, "but what kind of father would stop his child from doing what they feel they had to do?"

The old man looked over Arren's shoulder at his son, who was hanging on Harlen's every word as he told a tale of victory.

"I just... I just want him to be safe. He doesn't even have any armour for Stendar's sake. And after those comrades of yours walked out the door, there went the money I could have used to buy him some."

Arren glanced over to where the solders had sat, a large collection of bottles sitting all over the table they had sat at.

Without thinking Arren dived into his pocket and pulled out a small transparent stone. He placed it on the counter in front of Mralki.

"Take this." He said gently.

Mralki was stunned for a few seconds, and his eyes were still wide open and glaring at the stone whilst he responded.

"Is that a..."

Arren nodded.

"A diamond. I found it in a bandit's treasure stash a couple of years back. It's brought me good like ever since." He said with a smile.

Mralki was about to take the stone when he shook his head, snapping out of the small trance the stone had placed upon him.

"No. I can't take that." He said as he pushed it back to Arren, who sighed and pushed it back towards the stubborn innkeeper.

"Yes, you can. That stone is worth enough to refill your mead supply for a month, and still buy your son a set of decent armor."

Mralki looked form the stone to Arren.

"But, why? Why would you help my son? He's a stranger to you."

Arren smiled slightly.

"I was like him once. I was young, and eager to see the world. I joined the Legion, and was made a ranger. I have walked from the heart of Cyrodiil, to Daggerfall, to the deserts of the Ali'kir even to the coasts of Elsweyr. It's how I met my friends over there." he said pointing a thumb over his shoulder to his comrades,

"Being able to see the world has taught me many things, and made me the man I am today. I may have been separated from my family and friends for months, sometimes years on end, but it's a life that I am content with."

Mralki sighed. His eyes floated towards his son who laughed at one of Jack's jokes. His eyes met with Arren briefly who gave an encouraging nod.

"Erik my boy!" he called.

The young man turned in his chair to respond to his father.

"Go get your things packed, we're going to Whiterun tomorrow to get you a set of armor."

Erik's face lit up like oil exposed to flame. He looked to Arren who gave him an all-knowing wink and a smile. He then ran into one of the side rooms and started gathering his things.

Mralki looked back to Arren. "thank you."

Arren smiled.

"No problem. When you get to Whiterun's smith, tell Adrianna you are a friend of Arren True-Shot, she'll know what it means."

The old innkeeper smiled and nodded, holding out a hand which Arren shook gladly.

"Safe travels, Captain." He said.

"You as well, Mralki."

As dawn approached the next day, Arren and his team were taking down their tents and packing them onto the horses. They were done well before the first light broke over the mountaintops.

Having been a farming village many of the inhabitants were already up and working, but Rorick was the only one there to see the soldiers off. He remained at the General's side, talking all the while.

The General did his best to be polite, but he had clearly had enough of the man's company.

As Arren fastened the strap attaching his tent to the saddle, he heard the door of the inn open and close. He smiled as he watched Erik and his father make there way to the road.

They stopped and turned to see the Imperials mount their horses, noticing the Captains gaze was upon them. They gave a warm wave goodbye, both grateful for what he had done for them.

Arren simply nodded, and urged Dana forward.

Their next stop, the court of the Blue Palace.

**_I know it seems weird that I've put out a chapter three days in a row, but I have a perfect explanation. I have published this story before. I never finished it and I want to fix it up and get back into it again, this time knowing exactly where I want to go with it._**

**_There will only be about three more chapters I can put out this quickly, then I will be thrown back into the thrill of starting a brand new chapter for you guys to read. _**

**_Until then. _**

**_-xcaliber_**


	4. Chapter 4

"General Tullius sir! Welcome back!" called one of the guardsmen from the tower just opposite to hill that lead to the main gates.

The General raised his hand in greeting as the troupe of cavalry made their way up the hill at a trot.

Arren looked up at the large walls that surrounded the capitol. It reminded him of the Imperial City, only this was not as large.

It sat in the Northwestern corner of the province, right in the middle of a small bay that had a direct path into the sea of ghosts. The city itself sat on a large cliff that bridged out into a naturally formed arch, with the Blue Palace furthest from the cliff, practically hanging from it. It was a sight unlike any other, and Arren had seen many.

The General looked back along the column to Arren and the other rangers, who took in the sight with wonder. The old General smiled, he had worn a similar look on his face when he first arrived as military governor.

He looked to Rikke who rode along beside him and spoke in a low voice.

"Legate, you've known the Captain for a long time have you not?"

Rikke was stunned by the question, usually the General was too busy with war or politics to worry about her social life or those of others.

"Yes sir, he has fought alongside the Third cohort for a couple of years now, why do you ask?"

"Well, he is a Nord is he not? He was born here in Skyrim?"

The Legate nodded.

"Yes, he was born in Whiterun."

Tullius pondered for a moment, the Legate noticed this and her curiosity spiked.

"Why do you ask sir?"

"He acts as if he has never been to his own country before."

The Legate was quick to respond. "Only because he left Whiterun as a boy, he had never been anywhere outside of the city, and has never seen any of the other hold capitols."

Tullius worked with the idea in his head for a moment, the Legate curiosity demanded answers as to what he was thinking, but her conscience told her to leave it as it was.

Soon the riders were upon the gates of Solitude, with two guardsmen on either side.

"Welcome back to Solitude my lord, we are honored to have you in our city once again." Said one of the two who bowed his head.

"Open the gates guardsman, we are here to pay our condolences to the Jarl." Tullius said, eager to be on their way once more.

The guardsman who had spoken looked to his comrade, unsure of what to say, the two shrugged at each other before the other one spoke up.

"Of course, General. Be mindful however there is an execution going on just inside. The man who let Ulfric Storm-Cloak escape, after he murdered the King, faces the axe as we speak." The guard said before motioning for his companion to assist in opening the gate.

Tullius nodded in thanks and the riders began to enter the city.

As the group entered Arren marvelled at the buildings he saw at first glance, what seemed like an inn, a number of stores, and Castle Dour which stood like a watchful guardian above the rest of the city.

But as he entered the city further, a large gathering of citizens caught his attention. They were all gathered before a stage like platform, where a man was beginning to kneel before the chopping block.

As he laid his head on the block, Arren could have sworn that the man had looked at him.

It was not fear in his eyes, nor anger, but pity. Arren was unsure why he saw such an emotion on the man's face. But before he could blink the headsman's axe came down on his neck.

Some of the crowd gasped as they were hit with a faint spray of blood, some averted their eyes as to not watch the man's head roll across the ground, while others merely wore either a face that lacked expression, or a cruel smile.

The riders continued to move away from the scene as the crowd dispersed, some of the people calling out welcomes to the General, who Arren only now realized was staggeringly popular amongst the townspeople.

The troupe continued through the street, some citizens stopping to watch them as they rode by, even a few of the children laughed and chased after the riders, who did their best to ignore the small smiling faces.

It was only on the final stretch that Arren saw it. The Blue Palace. A majestic building in both design and scale, with a number of towers rising from it, and as they entered the courtyard, Arren noticed the beautifully built domed roof that crowned the building, as if the Palace was in its own right a monarch of the land.

A few young men and women from nearby ran to hold the rider's horses as they dismounted, each bowing their heads slightly.

As Arren slid off the saddle, a young woman held Dana's reigns.

When Arren's boots hit the ground, he looked at the girl. She was of at least twenty, young and beautiful. Her black hair going to her jaw line.

She smiled nervously at Arren, who nodded in reply as he began to follow the General, the Legate and the other rangers inside.

As the approached the door Jack nudged the captain's shoulder.

"I think she likes you boss." He said with a smirk.

Harlen noticing the teasing and nudged the opposite shoulder.

"Are you her gallant hero? Have you come to take her to your castle and lead her in a life of adventure and romance?" Harlen said with a laugh as Arren elbowed the two of them in the stomach.

"Knock it off you two!" Arren pleaded, going slightly red in the face as they entered through the door into what seemed like the foyer.

Just past the small room Arren could see the twin staircases that led to the second floor, and to what he assumed was the main throne room.

The General however, stopped and turned to the Rangers.

"Gentlemen, I would ask that you stay here, I will talk to the Jarl personally, then the four of you may enter."

Arren nodded.

"Very well General." He responded.

"And remember, Jarl Elisif is still in a fragile state after the loss of her husband. Be mindful of what you say in front of her." He said before turning around and walking up the stairs along with the Legate.

As the two soldiers left the rangers took a break on the benches around the small room, each of them slightly nervous for their meeting with the Jarl.

Arren was busy pacing the room; his nerves were going all over the place. He knew he wasn't good in front of crowds, and what was worse was that he was to be in front of a crowd with a woman who had claim to be High Queen of Skyrim.

How would he manage as he stood in her court before her? Would he loose his senses? Would he be frozen with fear?

Whatever worries went through his head were disrupted when an unseen person bumped into him, dropping a large pile of books to the floor.

"Oh gods, I'm terribly sorry!" said the man, who had been knocked to the floor as he frantically went to pick up his books.

He was a Breton, wearing a dark grey robe with a red tunic underneath that and a hood that had been knocked off his head when he fell to the ground revealing a head of light brown hair that had been cut short.

He was a mage, that much was clear. Arren even swore he saw a light glow to his robes.

The ranger kneeled down and helped the young Breton pick up his books.

"The apologies are mine." Arren said as he picked up several copies of books, names of which he had never seen, some even in writing that wasn't recognizable.

The Breton looked to him with a smile on his face.

"Thank you sir," he said as he examined each book. "Thankfully our little accident hasn't caused any damage, I would never forgive myself if any of these tomes were ruined because of my clumsiness."

Arren handed him the last one and stood.

The Breton stacked all of the books up, and picked them up, Arren being surprised the smaller man could hold them all. T

he Breton turned around so he could see Arren, so that he didn't have to peek over the books.

"I'm Kataan by the way, and this is..." he said looking around. "Where did she go? Brelnya? Brelnya where did you go?" He said spinning around. Unknown to him as he spun around looking for his companion, a few books fell off of the top of the stack that he carried.

Arren caught them and still unknown to the mage he placed them back on top.

"Sorry Kataan!" called a female voice, and a robed Dunmer came running down the stairs.

She walked up to him and relived half of the books, now the two mages could see over the weight of the knowledge in their hands.

Kataan sighed and gave a small look to his companion, who shifted on the spot, slightly embarrassed.

The Breton looked back to Arren.

"Thank you once again, may I know your name?"

"Arren, Arren True-Shot." The Breton smiled, placing his books on top of that of the Dunmer's.

"Hey!" she complained as Kataan went to shake the Ranger's hand.

"Ah yes, the famed archer of the Imperial legion, I have heard of you."

"You have?" Arren asked surprised that a mage would keep an open ear to the stories of soldiers.

"Yes of course, I pay attention to most current affairs of Tamriel, even though I am mutual when it comes to politics. Your skill is almost something unheard of when it comes to your people. From what I have heard, you have an aim that rivals a bosmer, strange for a Nord." He said holding his chin in thought, while Arren felt slightly insulted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The mage seemed unfazed by the question and Arren's way of expressing it, while the Dunmer looked quite nervous.

"Well Nords are more of a hack and slash race if you understand what I mean, while _you_ have a skill that rivals the most superior archer race in Tamriel."

Arren calmed down slightly but was still a touch annoyed at Kataan.

Brelnya cleared her throat.

"Kataan?" the Breton looked at her, "Here." She said as she gave him the entire stack of books and she walked out of the palace smiling deviously and leaving her friend looking rather surprised and confused.

"What did I do?" he asked.

Arren was surprised the mage had not grasped the idea of payback.

Kataan turned back to Arren one last time.

"Anyway, it was nice to meet you, perhaps we will meet again someday. Until then, I bid you fair well, Arren True-Shot." He said as he walked out the door following his companion.

Arren shook his head. _Mages. _He thought to himself. He had never been one for magic. The only kinds he could stand was healing. His life had been saved more than once thanks to even the minor skills of young priests and healers.

It wasn't because he was a Nord that he did not use magic, he just saw it as a waste time.

_That's probably what mages think of archery and war._ He mused to himself as another figure entered the room.

"Captain True-Shot?"Arren turned to the source, a Nord, older than himself. He wore a set of fine blue clothes, with a small brown fur cloak on top of that.

"I am Erikur, Thane of Solitude. I have been asked to have you follow me to the courtroom."

Arren looked to his comrades, who bore looks of excitement of their own.

He turned back to the older Nord.

"Lead the way then, Thane Erikur." The man nodded and turned towards the staircase, which too was flanked by guards, who stood to attention as the Thane and Rangers passed.

The five of them made their way up the stairs, as they reached the top, Arren's heart began to beat faster, nervousness or excitement, he could not tell which, made his stomach fly.

As they reached the top, he began to hear the quite chatter of the court, a number of voices, a few of them women, and a few of them men, but all articulate and clearly the voices of noblemen and women.

As they hit the final steps, the rangers caught sight of the court. It was smaller than Arren had expected, but it still matched the image of majesty that he had imagined.

To one side stood a man with a beard of such a red that Arren thought to tell him it was on fire, a woman dressed in a set of dark blue robes, clearly a mage. There was another woman dressed in a set of noble robes who sat to the side along with the General and the Legate.

On the other side of the room was a fairly large man clad in fearsome steel armor. But then, the light from an above window cast itself upon the throne, where sat a woman who Arren could only guess was Jarl Elisif the Fair.

She was far younger than Arren had expected, enough people were surprised of how young Arren was when compared with his reputation, now he knew how they felt.

Her face was, as her title suggested, smooth and fair, as if it had been shaped from smooth stone. Her hair was a light shade of brown, at a stage where it almost seemed like a shade of light copper, while her eyes stood out from the rest of her image, emitting a light sky blue.

The rangers now stood before the court. Arren could not speak for his comrades, but he knew that his heart was beginning to beat like an Orcish drum. He could hear each beat as if his heart had moved from his chest to between his ears, and was surprised that the rest of the court couldn't hear it.

"Lady Elisif," said Erikur as he bowed to the Jarl. "May I present Captain Arren True-Shot, and his comrades, Harlen Harold-son, Maria Garcian and Jack Carter."

The Thane stepped to the side, allowing the rangers to step forward and kneel before the Jarl.

Elisif stood, a small smile on her face.

"Rise, Captain. It is an honor to meet the man behind the legend."

Arren was unsure if it was obvious to the young Jarl, but his face felt as if it were going as red as a ruby as he stood to face the woman.

"The honor is all mine, my Lady."

The Jarl's smile was small, indicating a small level of sadness, not surprising considering her husband had only recently been murdered.

"I am glad to give you the honor to stand in my court. My..." she hesitated, her eyes watering slightly, before returning to a look of at least slight happiness. "My husband was actually quite the follower of your stories."

Arren insides dropped.

"A follower, my lady?"

She nodded.

"Yes, like all Nords do he followed the stories of heroes and soldiers throughout the Empire. However he always had a fascination with yours. He never understood how a Nord could have such skill as to rival a wood elf." She chuckled lightly.

"He was so inspired he even tried to learn how to shoot a bow, he gave up after a couple of months when he realized that he could not match his skill to that of a legend."

Arren was on the verge of grinning like an utter fool and leaping around the room.

The former High King Torryg, had heard of him. Him! A lowly commoner from Whiterun who held some kind of supernatural skill with a bow.

This was the first time that Arren had ever been in the presence of one at such a high standing as the Jarl. Yet in some way he had once stood in the court before, his stories being told to the young High King. Who was inspired to try archery.

And now Elisif was calling him a legend! But Arren was still in the presence of nobility, so he had to try his best to keep himself composed.

"You flatter me greatly, Jarl Elisif. It is a great honour to know that the King had heard of me."

Elisif nodded.

"I am happy that you feel this way. My husband would have very much liked to have met you. Your story was the one that he would always have retold to him. But for now let us not dwell on the past," she turned to the General. "General Tullius, I understand that the Captain was brought along to assist in the matter at hand?"

The general stood from his seat and walked to stand beside Arren.

"Yes, he and his team will accompany us on our mission." He looked around the court to the Steward, the mage, the Thanes, the rangers and the Housecarl.

"However I would like to discuss the details in private."

Elisif nodded and turned to the other members of her court.

"If you will please..." she stopped herself as a guard came at a pace up the stairs towards the throne, bowing to the nobles and soldiers.

"My Jarl, I apologize for the sudden interruption of the court, but Viarmo, Dean of the Bards College, is here to speak with you."

Elisif sighed in frustration.

"Probably for the continuation of the Burning of King Olaf, very well send him in."

The guard nodded and proceeded back down the stairs to bring whoever Viarmo was back up with him.

Tullius however was taken back at his interruption.

"Lady Elisif, we are discussing important matters of state."

"I understand General, but this is something that effects the immediate matters of Solitude. Viarmo has been trying almost every day for a few weeks to have the festival continue as planned."

Arren cleared his throat.

"If I may my lady, but why was the celebration cancelled in the first place? I may not be a part of Solitude society, but I have heard of the festival. Is it not to celebrate the punishment given to Olaf for betraying Solitude?"

Off to the side, the Jarl's steward nodded.

"Very good, Captain. I would not have expected a soldier, let alone someone who is new to Solitude to know of our traditions."

Arren smiled and nodded back.

"I may be a soldier, but I was raised a Nord."

The Steward nodded again in approval.

"You are very well acquainted with our traditions captain," replied the Jarl, "But I believe that the celebration is far too gruesome considering the recent death of the High King. I will admit it is a treasured occasion for the people, but we cannot allow a celebration to make us forget that we are at war."

Arren bowed his head.

"Very well, your majesty." he said as he and moved to the side with the General.

As they did so an Altmer, dressed in a fine set of clothes adorning a long braided beard, walked up from the stairs and gave a low bow before the Jarl.

"Ah Viarmo, I assume you are here to petition for the reinstatement of the Burning of King Olaf festival." she asked, and Arren noticed that she masked her frustration quite well, an important skill to have in the world of Jarls, kings and other politics.

"I am, Jarl. I wish to present King Olaf's verse from the poetic eda, recovered this very day from the bards tomb." he replied proudly, revealing a small and very old book in his hands, and a quite, yet obvious murmur of excitement and expectation went through the court.

Even Elisif was a little taken back on her now former frustration.

"You mentioned something that would convince us the festival should take place, but I didn't expect King Olaf's Verse, please proceed." She said, a small hint of excitement in her voice.

The Altmer bowed again and opened the book, clearing his throat.

"O, Olaf, our subjugator, the one eye betrayer, death-dealing demon and dragon-killing King. Your legend is lies, lurid and false, your cunning capture of Numinex, a con for all the ages. No shouting match between dragon and man, no fire or fury did this battle entail. Olaf struck a deal to make himself King, Numinex let go, though none tell that tale.

"Olaf grabbed power, by promise and threat; From Falkreath to Winterhold, they fell to their knees; But Solitude stood strong, Skyrim's truest protectors. Olaf's vengeance was instant, inspired and wicked!

Olaf gave orders; Winterhold disguises an attack on Solitude, total destruction to follow, his men dressed up, and then went out to fight; But they reversed Olaf's orders much to Winterhold's sorrow.

"So ends the story of Olaf the liar, the thief, the scoundrel we of Solitude commit to the fire." He closed the book to look upon the court. "In Solitude bards train for their service, they also gather each year to burn a king who deserves it."

The Altmer bowed and a loud applause went up from the court, even Arren found himself clapping, he wasn't much for literature, but something in the verse sounded good. Almost too good to be the verses written so long ago.

Arren looked to the Jarl, who sat there in thought, but was surprised when she looked over to him as if asking his opinion.

Not knowing exactly what to say, Arren simply smiled and gave her a nod.

She smiled back and gave a likewise nod to him, and stood from her throne to stand tall above the court.

"You have proven your point, Viarmo; the festival is truly a celebration of Solitude, and a condemnation of false kings."

The elf looked overjoyed, and bowed before the Jarl once again, even lower than before.

"I thank you and the college thanks you Jarl!" he said.

Arren almost thought that the elf was about to cry in joy.

"Furthermore, I believe that such a fine poem deserves some payment of patronage. The college will be moderately rewarded." She said with a smile.

Arren sighed quietly of annoyance as the elf began to bow even lower.

"Oh thank you yet again! I will make sure our applicant who was instrumental in the uh... recovery of the poem will be well rewarded." He looked over his shoulder, a look of confusion masking his previous expression of joy. "Uh... as soon as I next see-"

"I apologize for my tardiness," called a voice as a young man, a few years older than Arren came running up the stairs and took his place at Viarmo's side, a large grin on his face.

He was dressed in a set of what looked like padded leather armor, a number of pockets going across the chest and a hood draping behind his neck. His brown hair was short and spiked, and his eyes a deep green color.

His grin suddenly dropped.

"I missed it didn't I?"

Viarmo sighed.

"Once again, thank you for your generosity Jarl, the college hopes to see you at the celebrations this evening."

"Then the colleges hopes will be fulfilled. I shall see you at the festival." Elisif said before seating herself back down as the elf left the palace, while his assistant however was caught in the gaze of Arren, who stood in his own as well.

"Artemis." Said Arren, neither in a tone that matched either anger or happiness.

"Arren." The man replied in likeness.

Arren kept his gaze on the man, but noticed the uneasiness portrayed by his comrades.

"Captain, you know this man?" asked Maria.

"This is Artemis True-Shot, my brother."

As the crackling of the burning effigy filled the Bard College courtyard, the people danced around it as a number of bards combined their instruments in a sweet symphony.

Arren and Artemis leaned against the wall at the back of the courtyard, overlooking the ocean before them that was now draped in the shadow of night.

"So... how have you been Arren?" asked Artemis, breaking the silence that they had shared for a good ten minutes.

Arren merely scoffed.

"I run into you today after years of hearing nothing, out of coincidence, and you try to make small talk?"

"Well gods be dammed Arren." Artemis replied in frustration, "What the hell am I supposed to say?"

Arren didn't reply. In all truth he was glad they were at least arguing rather than continuing to sit there in silence.

He sighed.

"I... I don't know. I guess it's just weird seeing you again."

Artemis chuckled a little.

"Weird? I'm your brother, how is that weird?"

"How about the fact you left without saying goodbye."

Artemis' expression dropped once again.

"Oh, yeah that... if it's any consolation; I'm sorry."

Arren shook his head in frustration.

"I'm not the one you should be sorry to, at least I got to see you again. Not like father and mother."

The two of them stood there for a brief moment and shared the pain of loss.

"I know, but I-"

"I even sent a courier to find you, to track you down. He came back and told me that you got the message, but you didn't leave Skyrim in any hurry. You didn't come back for the funeral, you didn't even come back to pay your respects!" Arren snapped as he pushed off the wall to face his brother who met his movement, a few of the partygoers looked on in curiosity.

"You think I enjoyed making that decision? You think I've thrown that out of my mind? Well guess what _Brother, _I've had to live with that choice every day of my life!"

"That's not good enough!" Arren yelled in his brothers face, the bards faltering slightly in their music. "You didn't try to contact us in any way. Not once was there a day where I waited for a letter. And not once was there a day where one ever showed up."

The Ranger's eyes were starting water; he turned away from his brother and walked off, through the college courtyard then out into the streets.

"Arren!" Artemis called after him, but was met with silence.

The elder brother sighed in frustration, before raising his head when he felt a gloved hand on his shoulder. He turned to the sight of a woman, dressed in a similar outfit as his brother hd been.

"He gets mad sometimes. You just need to let him vent it out." She said, moving off before Artemis could reply.

The low gurgling of a drain was one of the only sounds, save for those that echoed from the festival, that was present on the path up to Castle Dour.

Arren passed the two guards who held the gates, both of them snapping to attention.

"Hail, True-Shot." One of them said as he passed.

He made his way through the courtyard and under the arch that lead to the temple of the divines, the only other people present were the guards who stood ever ready.

As he walked through the large twin doors he was met with light glow of candles and lanterns that lit a room lined with pews, and at the head of the hall the shrines of the divines.

Arren walked forward and sat in the pew second form the front, looking to the shrines.

Akatosh The dragon god of time.

Arkay God of the Cycle of Birth and Death.

Dibella Goddess of Beauty.

Julianos God of Wisdom and Logic.

Kynareth - Goddess of Air and Nature.

Mara - Mother Goddess and Goddess of Love.

Stendarr - God of Mercy and Justice.

Zenithar - God of Work and Commerce.

Each had a podium with their shrines atop them, however one was left empty. The shrine of Talos, the god of war and governance.

It sickened Arren to have Talos taken from the pantheon. It was he that founded the Empire as Tiber Septim, it was he that united all of Tamriel.

It was this that had caused the Nords to finally snap, and rebel against the empire. But he knew that if it had not been done the elves would have surely butchered the race of men.

"The Nord's should be grateful." Arren said out loud.

"That's what my husband said." a voice responded, and Arren leapt up from the pew, a dagger in his hand ready face whoever stood in the darkness. However he was never prepared for Jarl Elisif to walk out of the shadow at the doorway to the temple.

Arren put his dagger away instantly at the sight of the young woman.

"My Lady, I apologize. You startled me."

Elisif laughed lightly.

"If anything I am the one that should be apologizing." she said as she began to approach the front of the temple, her hands in front of her.

"You left the festival quite quickly, family problems?" she asked as she walked past him and stood before the shrines of the divines.

"N-no, it's just I… have problems with crowds."

Elisif turned to face him, a small smile on her lips.

"I thought the Empire trained rangers to be able to lie." she said as her smile turned into a smirk.

Arren's face went slightly red, thankfully his hood combined with the low light of the room hid this.

"I uh... I guess it's harder to lie in the presence of the divines." He said looking to the altars.

"I wouldn't have thought you to be a very spiritual man, captain." Elisif said with a raised brow and a smirk on her lips

Arren laughed a little.

"There's an old saying in the armies of Tamriel; There are always prayers on the battlefield. And well let's just go to say that I have been on a lot of battle fields." He said as he went to sit down on the front row pew.

Elisif smiled and joined him.

"I would imagine so. Still, there is something about you that tells me you don't truly worship the divines." She said looking at him.

Arren felt slightly awkward, being in the same room as one of the most regal women in Skyrim, and alone.

"I suppose I don't like the idea of someone else controlling my life. I prefer freedom from fate."

The Jarl smiled shook her head.

"You can never escape from fate Arren. No matter how fast you run it will always catch up with you at some stage or another. Torryg never thought so, he believed we should be able to forge our own destiny."

"Your husband was a philosopher then?" Arren asked, surprised that the Jarl had spoken to him by his name.

"He was many things. A fair fighter was one of them. Not like the bastard that killed him." she said as tears began to well in her eyes.

Arren looked to the young Jarl.

"Ulfric will be brought to justice. You can be assured of that, my lady."

Elisif shook her head.

"No, no I have no doubt that he will, it's just that even justice cannot bring back my husband. Perhaps I will see him again someday, if I am fortunate enough to go to Sovengarde myself." she said as she stood and walked slowly towards the shrines of the divines.

Arren stood from his seat but didn't no move any further.

"I'm sure you will my Lady, and I am sure that he looks forward to your arrival." he was unsure whether he had picked the right words.

Elisif turned to him a small smile on her face.

"I hope so, otherwise I will have no one to share an eternity of paradise with."

The sound of the door opening to the temple made the two turn to see Tullius stride in with Rikke at his side.

"Captain, there you are. I hope I am not interrupting anything."

Elisif wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

"Not at all General, I was just leaving." she turned to Arren once more. "Farewell, Captain. I will not be there tomorrow to see you off. I shall pray for you and your comrade's safety, so that one day I hope our paths cross again."

Arren bowed before the Jarl. "

It has been an honor, Lady Elisif."

And she walked away. As she neared the door, she gave a brief good bye to the General.

"Safe travels Tullius."

"Thank you Elisif." he said giving her a small bow of his head. Once she had left the room, he began to move towards Arren.

"You and the Jarl seem to get along well." he said, a small smirk on his face implying something.

Arren stood straight, almost to a point where he stood at attention.

"Merely a conversation sir, nothing more."

The aged General chuckled lightly.

"Very well. Either way your standing with the Jarl is not what I wish to talk about. I wish to speak of our plans for the next few days."

Arren's interest suddenly spiked.

"What will be happening, sir?"

The aged General walked forward to stand by his side, his gaze focused on the shrines before turning to face the Ranger.

"We are going to capture Ulfric Stormcloak."


End file.
